Words in Theory
by Bravenewdust
Summary: Mello might have been rising to power within the mafia but all he really wanted to do was finish writing his book. Mello/Matt
1. Found

A/N- Well, I'd like to start off saying that this fic was inspired by three people and dedicated to one

**A/N- Well, I'd like to start off saying that this fic was inspired by three people and dedicated to one. The Matt and Mello fandom is barren of lovely multi-chapter fics, however popular the fandom seems to be. L/Light has masterpieces, Coexistence is Boredom, True Elision, and many others I can't list at the moment. So, after reading the great works of Ezan and Sakurazukomori6, as well as RPing with one of my best friends, I have decided to try and concoct a non-AU Mello/Matt fic. I make no claim that it will be as deep and involved as the fics I have listed, but I'm going to give this my best shot. Because Mello and Matt deserve it, and so do their fans.**

**Dedication: To Lizz. The girl I made an M&M fan before she really knew who they were…and the girl who made me the Mello fan before I **_**really**_** knew who he was. She can write from Mello's perspective like no one I've ever seen and she gave me the chance to be Matt. This one's for her.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. Nor do I own M&Ms.**

* * *

Intelligent people are more apt to commit mistakes more than any other sector of the population.

Mello, however, would not admit he had made a mistake. Ever since the rainy day he'd left Whammy's House he had not thought for a moment about going back. Not while Near was there. Not while he was second. To be partners, co-L's with that bent little freak…the thought left him with a bad taste in his mouth, despite the chocolate residue, as well as the intense desire to kick something. Someone. Anyone. Well, not anyone. Matt was the other person in the room and he was only innocently plodding away on his DS. Like always.

Mello was sitting in front of his desk with a blank sheet of notebook paper staring back at him. Mocking him, he was sure. The corners of the sheet were curling in on themselves due to the saturation of water in the air. A storm would brake any minute, and it would be a violent one, harsh enough to clear the streets of New York of all but the homeless and the most foolish of pedestrians. Mello was half sure the power in the rickety old apartment he had holed up in would blow. Well, however fine that would be for Matt, with his portable source of entertainment, Mello needed desk-light to write. Because he was writing. Yes, indeed, he was writing.

It was the fucking pencil's fault that words were not coming out.

Taking a rather violent bite from his chocolate bar, he twirled the pencil in his fingers. Perhaps that was the problem. He wasn't typing the thing up on a computer. He was stuck with old fashioned methods because, if a computer user was clever enough, then anything that had been deleted could be recovered. And Mello still wasn't sure who he wanted to read this.

Yes, the fact that there were no words on the page had nothing to do with the fact that he had no clue what to write about and everything to do with the fact that there _was_ a page in front of him and not a glowing screen.

Intelligent people are also, rather inconveniently, exceptionally good or bad at lying to themselves during certain moments in their lives. Mello was quite aware that he was thinking complete shit. He was also quite aware of the fact that he was procrastinating.

"Just do the easiest thing, okay?"

Apparently Matt was too.

"Why would I do that?" Mello snarled, spinning around in desk chair to glare at Matt. "I want something I can shove in Near's face, not something that the loser can say he had already surmised!" To Mello's chagrin, Matt was still staring (as far as Mello could tell with those fucking orange goggles blocking most of his eyes) at the DS and therefore could not properly understand the Frustration of Mello.

"Well," Matt mumbled, "you seem to be having trouble."

"I am _not_ having trouble."

"Then why—yes, it was super effective—are you staring at the paper like you can set it on fire with your mind?"

Mello blinked. Matt had been watching him? Also, that was an excellent idea, perhaps if he just "borrowed" Matt's lighter for a moment….

"Maybe you can just lead him off course. Think of the largest red-herring that you can, I have complete confidence in your ability to do so, and then stuff it in there to throw him off course. Also," and Matt quickly tapped the screen of his DS before looking up to stare at Mello through his goggles, "don't write from your point of view, don't do it from L's. There's gotta be someone in those stories who you can throw Near off with."

Mello was still seething, albeit with surface anger, but the idea…the idea had some merit. Oddly it began to calm him, rather than infuriate him. Matt wasn't Near. He wasn't Kira. He wasn't any of the thousands of members of the human race Mello was competing against. He was Matt. Matt, the boy who'd followed him around at Whammy's; Matt, the boy who'd called him after he'd left and screamed at Mello for not taking him with him, demanding directions and sprinting down to meet him in the pouring rain; Matt, the man who would follow Mello anywhere and listen…just listen.

Mello still hadn't told him the stories L had given him. He hadn't told anyone. They sat inside him, glowing brightly, making Mello feel… almost special. They made him feel that perhaps, if L had lived through the Kira case, he would have chosen Mello after all. Instead of making the half-assed decision Roger'd pulled out. The guy didn't even like kids. Why the hell had the guy run an orphanage?

Matt hadn't asked Mello about what L and Mello had talked about on the one unforgettable occasion that they met, face to face. Matt had seen enough when Mello had come stumbling back to their room, nearly shaking with awe and looking so proud, so happy, that he might burst into little Mello-chocolaty bits. Matt knew that L had told Mello some of the stories of his life. Mello knew Matt knew. Mello also knew Matt was even a little bit curious about what L had told him…but Matt had never asked, because, if he asked, Mello would tell him. And Mello felt really good about being the one, the only one who could, rub these stories into the twit's face.

"Maybe…maybe that's a good idea," Mello conceded, rolling the thought around in his head and smoothing to chocolate his mouth over with his tongue. Matt didn't respond, seemingly absorbed in his game yet again.

Yes…yes, there was one story, one with a woman, a detective, one who had fallen victim to Kira not too many years after the incident with Beyond Birthday case with L. She had been clever. Clever enough to deserve being written about.

Mello knew what to write now.

He put the pencil to the page and began to scribble furiously, words pouring from his fingers to page, the pencil warm in his hand.

Lighting cracked through the sky. The power blew.

Matt learned many new German swears that night.

* * *

It had been days since Mello had surfaced from his notebook, and a large pile of candy bar wrappers and crumpled papers had built up next to him. It was large enough to be half the size of the desk.

None of this particularly perturbed Matt as by this stage in his life he was rather used to living with someone obsessed. He was perfectly content to play his DS in relative silence. It was the sudden noise from the outside that night that nearly killed him.

There was no moon that night, and the stars, their light so weak, had no hope of being seen with all of the light pollution the city generated. And for all of the car alarms and engines that could be heard not to far away from their location in the Bronx, it was surprisingly easy to hear the gunshot fired from below them.

It cut through them as though they were made of butter; blonde and red heads snapped up from their work and listened. Of course they had heard gunshots before, they were in one of the less respectable parts of the world and there were few things they were innocent of…but they'd never heard one like this. Not this close.

Mello's heart was pounding in his throat, his muscles tense, and before even he realized it he was running, as quietly as a person could run, out of the apartment door and down the rickety old stairs. Nothing on the third floor, the second, but the first…there were scuffling noises on the first. Mello pressed himself against the wall of the stairwell, determined to stay out of sight but he had every intention of eavesdropping. It was then he realized Matt was right beside him. Of course he was. Mello felt a little more sure of himself.

The other occupants of the building, which were indeed few as this was a less than desirable place to live in, were either all out or were too smart to want to see what Mello was so eagerly investigating and he was all the happier for it. Crime? In a major city? Definitely going to show up on news, or at least the internet. People who didn't fear Kira? This was more than interesting….

Mello tensed, then felt Matt grab his hand. He whipped his head around and Matt shook his head. Mello scowled. Of course he wasn't going to run out there. He wasn't one of the highest-ranking members of Whammy's House for nothing (he would not say "second").

There was whispering. Mello whipped his head back around, craning his neck forward until he was at the brink of being seen.

"…no, he's not…no, no, no…suicide…how's that possible? We blew his brains out…Kira…" was all Mello could make out. He nearly growled, but thought better of it. Matt tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that he was going around the other side of the stairs. No doubt to try and see if he could make out more than Mello was at that moment. Mello nodded, only worrying briefly. Matt was more than capable at taking care of himself and far sneakier than his friend. Matt tiptoed off and Mello went back to listening in. He could hear footsteps now, coming closer. Worry bubbled in him, ebbing off when he realized that the footfalls were merely meandering. Someone was lost in thought.

"Eddie…what the fuck are we supposed to do?" came an urgent whisper. "I thought…goddamn, now they tell us that his fucking family are huge Kira supporters? NOW they tell us that he even _has a fucking family?!_" The voice, for all of the masculinity poured into it, was tipping on the edge of hysteria.

There was a returned whisper. Mello cupped a hand to hiss ear, turning so that his chest was flat against the wall. However, Mello's jeans were rather loose and out from his pocket fell a still-wrapped silver chocolate bar.

Immediately the lights flew on and Mello jumped back, hearing a gun cock as a pair of footsteps rushed into the stairwell. Mello's first instinct was to back against the wall, but then he would have effectively cornered himself. Still, Mello was no pussy. He could cstreet-fight against a grown man and win. Still, he had no chance against the barrel of the gun staring him straight in the face. The man who was holding it was large and muscled, his hair long and braided. He looked like a black clone of his friend who was standing behind him, as this one man was enough to block the doorway.

Mello was frozen, his brilliant mind had been kicked into hyper drive but he couldn't stop the small part of his brain that he hadn't been shot yet. Damnit, that wouldn't distract Near. Near could get out of this. Think like Near, like Near…but he didn't want to think like Near!

"Damnit, Eddie," said the white man. "Is that a boy, a girl, or a freak accident?" Mello nearly spat out a violent German response right there but held back his tongue. It wasn't worth dying.

"Hey, kid, what did you hear?" asked Eddie, with no pretense of kindness behind his voice.

"I'm not a kid," Mello responded back childishly, nearly beating himself in the head the moment the words left his mouth. Still, no time for that. "If you kill me, you'll just be in deeper shit that you already are. No chance of making it look like a suicide then. Kira will kill you."

Both men froze, startled. He'd caught them off-guard, excellent. Time to make demands. "Let me go, give me your gun, and I won't say a word. That was the landlord, right? Me and my mom were about to get kicked out anyway, so your secret's safe. I would gain nothing by speaking about this." Yes, making high demands and lying through his teeth were the way to go.

Sadly, giving the men a moment to think was his fatal flaw. "Well," said Eddie. "I guess it's a boy, his voice is pretty deep. What are you, kid, sixteen?" Mello nearly screamed, but at least this was better than being killed.

"I'm seventeen," he said shortly.

Eddie sighed, handing the gun over to his friend but keeping it aimed at Mello all the while. "C'mere, kid, you're right, Kira will probably get us," he admitted, stepping forward, "but there's even more of a chance of us getting caught if we let a witness go."

He made a grab for Mello, who sidestepped his hands to try and aim a kick at his attacker's groin. However, this man grossly larger and stronger than Mello's typical opponent and the man angled his hips away slightly and his hands wrapped around Mello, one around the throat and one around the waist. Mello blanched, having never experienced the sensation of being choked before he was completely unprepared and panicked, wrapping his two open hands around the larger one that was suppressing his ability to breathe along with crushing his jugular. The pair of them struggled for a moment until a bullet whizzed by them. Eddie stopped crushing so Mello stopped, if for a moment, struggling.

The other man lay passed out on the ground and Matt stood over him, gun he'd liberated in hand, aiming straight at Mello's assaulter. Mello swore he'd never seen Matt look so pissed.

"Let him go," said Matt, in a tone the suggesting that he was absolutely not bluffing. Immediately oxygen flooded Mello's lungs. He managed to quickly stagger away to take his place at Matt's side, keeping one eye on the unconscious man beside them. Breathing still slow, excellent.

The man in front of them, Eddie, looked completely lost. His eyes were wide with disbelief and Mello truly believe at that moment this man had been terribly misinformed about the nature of the job he was pulling tonight. Everything was silent. Finally, Mello spoke.

"You think you're going to die tonight, don't you?" he asked, no emotion in his voice, which was rather disconcerting for him.

Eddie sighed, tilting his head downward but keeping his eye on the gun. "If not right now, then tomorrow. You can kill me now. Or I can go back to the boss and tell him Clark lost his cool and killed your old landlord there on the spot 'cause Clark just about pissed his pants when you're the guy pulled out a gun. So, now everything will pointing back to Clark, plus we left two witnesses alive along with an apartment filled with people. Or can not go back and wait for either them or Kira to get me."

Mello bit his lip, looking thoughtful. So this guy wasn't run-of-the-mill gang trash. This guy talked like he was mafia, albeit some sort of meat shield.

Mello could use this.

"Or, you could fix the job you fucked up," Mello suggested. Matt's eyes quickly darted to his friend for a moment but he said nothing, turning them back on his target. Eddie, for his part, looked confused.

"What do ya…"

"I mean," Mello said, irritably, "that you can fix this. Make it look like he shot himself, or at least try. You don't fucking give up." With that, Mello turned his back on the fully-grown man he had just asserted his dominance over. Time to survey the murder scene.

Well, Mello thought, they'd certainly botched this up. Blood spattered the floor and his landlord lay drowning in it, facedown in his own ooze. With a look of mild disgust, he spotted the gun he'd intended to use on the mafia members lying by his hand. Great.

Matt had walked up beside him along with the prisoner he still had his gun turned on; Matt was keeping himself between the man and Mello. Mello was touched.

"Well, first we steal his gun, his ammo and wipe every single goddamn foreign finger print this place has to offer, so I hope you guys didn't touch much. Matt, you'll destroy any documents he has about being allowed to own a gun, go online for a follow up. Find out who he bought it from, then destroy those records too. We'll replace his gun with the one that put the whole in his head, so that way the bullet data matches up. Then to seal the deal we lock the room to make it look like no one has gotten out."

The mafia man had his eyes wide with wonder but he was more than a little startled and guarded.

"What…you're trying to…help us?"

Mello resisted the urge to insult him. That wouldn't be the best choice of action to get him to cooperate.

"Yes, and _before_ someone upstairs calls the cops."

"But…but how are we gonna lock the room from the outside without taking the key? We don't have time to make a mold, not illegally."

Mello grinned. "Well, we can't use dolls like the last time, but that bedpost and desk chair will do. I've got some string on me, too. I don't think anyone's gonna investigate this thing far enough to read about some obscure case in Los Angeles, do you?"

Mello, Matt and Eddie successfully cleaned up after the debacle of the grown men, letting the man, Clark, lie passed out on the floor. Mello was highly impressed with this. He'd known Matt could fight but that was the first Mello had seen of his friend's capabilities against a true opponent (not counting himself, of course). Matt was quiet and deadly. Reminded him of a ninja.

Clark still hadn't woken after Matt and Mello had gathered their possessions and destroyed any evidence of their existence in this place. No one here had seen them anyway, and even if they had, none of these people would be keen on an interview with the police.

After waiting an impossibly long time for the man to come to and then even more time after to thoroughly explain everything to the confused man, Eddie turned to Mello and said, "Sorry, kid, but we still can't let you two go, even after that."

Mello smirked. "You forget we have the gun," he taunted, motioning to Matt. Matt had only let the weapon leave his hands for a moment, and that was to exchange it with the landlord's gun. "But that doesn't matter; we intended to go with you anyway, provided we are seen as accomplices, not witnesses. In your retelling you may make yourselves seem more capable but you damn well better not screw us over."

Eddie laughed at that, surprising Mello. "No, kid, we wouldn't do that, not after how you helped us, right Clark?" The man seemed to take his clues from Eddie and nodded. "But I figured you need a place to stay, right? And you seem the type the boss would like under him. I figured I could offer the pair of you some safety, 'cause I can tell by this point no one's looking out for you but you."

Mello blinked. Everything was proceeding better than he had expected and, aside from the comments about working under someone, he was relatively pleased by the offer. It was understandable that Eddie had deduced he and Matt were on their own. No normal kid could have just successfully turned a murder-scene into a suicide.

"Well, I hardly think Matt and I need protection. We did have your lives in our hands, after all."

Eddie laughed again. "Naw, that was all your buddy. I was squeezing the life out of you 'till he saved your ass." Mello scowled while Matt looked fairly pleased with himself.

"I had to distract you for him to gain the upper hand." This was a true statement. Mello had not added on that he hadn't intended to be a distraction but such information was superfluous. He thought he heard Matt snort but dismissed it.

"Anyway," Mello said authoritatively, "we would be more than happy to meet your boss and become part of his little 'group.'" Eddie raised an eyebrow, giving Matt a speculative look. He seemed intelligent for a grunt.

"Are you so eager to sign your life away to the mafia? You never get out, you know." Well, wasn't that nice, looking out for the kids. Or was it really that he was trying to make Mello realize his mistake before forcing him to do it anyway?

"None of that matters right now. And it's not as if you're giving me a choice, right?" asked Mello. Eddie started. Mello had him wrapped around his finger already.

"No, I'm not. You just shouldn't be so eager, kid."

"I'm not a kid. I'm seventeen," Mello bit back and he thought he heard another snort from Matt's general direction. 'Yeah, laugh it up, you're barely able to drive in this country,' Mello thought at him bitterly. Damn the world for making him more mature than that kid but making the people around him stupid enough to get Matt's sex at the first glance but have them ogle for a half an hour at him before they declared him female.

"Anyway, take me to your fucking leader before my friend over here gets bored and shoots you both so he can play his DS."

**A/N-Sooo…what do you think? I know its kinda slow, and I don't expect this to become as epic as the DN fics listed above…but Matt and Mello need some love, so I really hope this comes out well. I'm sorry the first chapter was so short but I think that was the best place to end it, at least until I can tell if this story generated some interest. I'd love if everyone and their grandmother reviewed. It is the inspiration that keeps me going, and away from icky schoolwork.**

**Also, yes, Mello stole some ideas from Beyond Birthday and, yes, he IS writing Another Note. If you haven't read it yet, I suggest you pick it up. The book itself isn't vital to this or the actual plot of DN…but it IS an excellent read. You can find it in your manga section.**


	2. Target

**A/N (AKA: A VERY LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE)-Wow…I didn't at all expect the response to this that I got. So many reviews in one short time! You've all made me so happy! grin And we all could use a little bit more happiness in our lives now, right? **

**I would like to say thank you to those of you who corrected me last chapter on my mistakes, and I encourage you to do so in the future. I hope I have, to your satisfaction, rid chapter one of any errors, in plot or otherwise. I am in the process of changing to fit your suggestions, as they were all very good ones. Criticism only makes you better and you were all so nice about it! About developing Matt, I do realize I'm a bit lacking on that, and it only becomes harder as, for the moment, we're working in Mello's POV. Never fear, however, as I love writing Matt and we'll see more of him and Mello and Matt's relationship in this chapter…this IS a Mello/Matt fic after all.**

**Please, please, PLEASE tell me if something I write isn't cannon. I want this to match the actual story as much as possible so any inconsistency is NOT okay with me. It's still early enough that if these mistakes are pointed out I can correct them.**

**Also, I would like to state now that, no, Mello is not going to become head of the mafia, sadly. I didn't happen in the story and is, actually, quite impossible as that only Italians are allowed to become anything more than an Associate of the mob. Yes, I have been doing my research as my knowledge of this area is severely lacking so. Whenever someone uses a mob term I will footnote it with the appropriate info. If I forget anything and you become confused, just let me know. I am getting most of my info from wiki.**

**Yes, this is a long note but much needs to be said. Now, according to the info I've found Mello couldn't have possibly been part of an American mob, not on the east coast at least, because Italians, as said before, are the only ones who can climb the ranks…and none of the people in the manga seemed to be very Italian did they? Nor did they seem to behave like the mob; it felt much more like a gang, albeit a powerful one. Sooo…I've decided to have Mello ultimately end up with a group of mafia wannabes, as the Jewish and Irish mafia groups…you either need to be Jewish or Irish. Is there a German mafia in America? Any questions or you care to correct me, either email or put it in your review.**

**Please keep in mind as you read this fic that Mello and Matt are 17 and are a little less mature than the men we see battling Kira in Death Note.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, its characters, M&Ms.**

**--**

It was only Mello's absolute confidence in himself that let him and Matt be blindfolded without a fight; it seemed to make the two mafia men feel better.

He felt Matt shift beside him and smiled. Sometimes, at the oddest of times, Mello could get inside the mind of a criminal, really get inside, to the point where he could feel the itchy fibers of murderer's wool sweaters. At other times, Mello got a glimpse of a different sort of mind.

Right now, he felt Matt's fingers, as if they were his own, and he knew that they were dusting over the pocket of his pants bulging with his DS. God, the kid needed stimulation, didn't he?

"Matt, just so you know, you really can't shoot them just because you're bored. I was joking earlier." His grin became wider when he felt Matt's bemused stare burning through both pairs of their blindfolds and right into his own eyes. Warmth pulled through his vision.

Mello shook himself. No, not the time.

"Alright, kid," said Eddie who was sitting in the driver's seat in front of Mello, "you may think you're smart but you had better not cop the attitude you been using wit' me and Clark, here." Mello scowled. No, he was indeed, actually, not suffering from a brain injury, thank you very much. Again, he could have sworn he heard an amused snort come from Matt's direction.

"Really?" asked Mello, sarcasm wrapping every word, "you don't piss off crime lords? I never knew…." He'd made his eyes wide with innocence but the blindfold rather ruined the effect.

Matt snickered again. "We know, Mello. It's okay."

…Little twit.

Mello growled as Matt laughed and nudged him playfully. Sighing, Mello let the insult go. There were better things to think about, and they were a bit more pressing as well. Things like Matt and him out of this safely. Like stopping Kira. Like avenging L.

Like beating Near.

--

When the car finally stopped, Matt had nearly become a puddle of boredom while Mello was tensed, muscles singing energy into his bones. He was ready for this. He was ready for anything.

"Alright, kids, blindfolds off."

Mello and Matt moved in sync to wrench off the blinds; Matt glared at his while Mello's eyes went to dart over the scene around him. Eddie and Clark had parked their car in front of what looked like in a warehouse, but it was hard to tell with only a sliver of moonshine for light. Biting his lip, Mello stepped out from the car, Matt following his lead, and tried to ignore the disappointment moaning in his insides. An abandoned warehouse…unbelievably cliché. Somehow he had wanted his first step towards catching Kira to be a little less pathetic. Still, it didn't matter. Matt, however, felt the need to comment.

"An abandoned warehouse? Aren't you just asking for some meddling kids?"

Eddie and Clark chuckled, motioning for the pair of them to follow and they did but Mello was looked from Matt back to the men curiously. His friend had just made a joke that Mello didn't understand…but the idiots had? What was going on here?

Catching his eye, Mello shot the red head a questioning look only to have the goggle-eyed boy grin back at him.

"Only people who had childhoods would understand, Mello," Matt explained.

Clark split off from Eddie the moment they entered the building, delving into some of the deeper shadows cast by the maze of crates until he was out of sight. Eddie made an effort to stay in sight so he was the one followed. Still, it wasn't the most pleasant place to follow anyone; Mello's eyes ached with the strain of trying to see in the dim atmosphere, the smoke of cigarettes making his eyes burn and water on top of poisoning his lungs. Matt made a small noise like he was clearing his throat. Mello saw it for the disguised cough that it was. Still, at least his friend had goggles to protect his vision.

God, what he wouldn't give for a bar of chocolate….

At long last the trio of a mafia man and orphans breached the center of the crate labyrinth. Here at least, the cloud of smoke was thinnest. Sadly, Mello relief was short-lived; the overpowering scent of urine, and something metallic Mello couldn't put a name to at the moment, began assaulting his nose.

At the center of the room were a group of crates (what were _in_ those anyway?) arranged to resemble a desk, behind which was placed leather swivel chair, complete with a tear in the right arm. Sitting in the trashy chair was a man who looked as though he'd be rippling with muscles if he bothered to do anything but deskwork. Sadly, this man was practically bubbling over with hair instead, crops of the stuff popping out from his nose, his ears, and from beneath his imitation designer suit. White gold rings were practically assaulting the man's beefy fingers and Mello thought the reason why his fingers were so red was because of how tightly each piece of jewelry fit.

Gathered around the man at the desk were several figures whose body types ranged from behemoths like Eddie to wiry, rodent-like men to men more effeminate than any crossdresser Mello had ever encountered. None of them looked particularly friendly but Mello wasn't looking for handouts.

The man at the desk, obviously the boss, stirred and looked up from trying to light his cheap Cuban cigar.

"Eddie, what do you think you're doing, bringing two kids back here?" Well, at least speech patterns weren't laced with stupid.

"Boss, these kids wanna join up…they saved my ass out there. Clark's too," Eddie admitted. "Me and him, Clark that is, ya see, we were about to knock off the guy, you know the one, when we were walking by these kids' dorm room when we overheard them."

Mello blinked and he could feel Matt's questioning stare boring into him. Well, that was a little bit different….

"They were talkin' about how they had every planned out to kill their landlord but they still needed weapons. Clark and me thought they'd be helpful 'cause we listened in on them running over their plan and the parts we could hear sounded more coherent than ours."

Oh, big boy knew the word "coherent." Mello was impressed. The fact that Eddie was lying his ass off didn't bother him in the slightest; it didn't seem to be hurting their case.

"So we decided they'd be useful and dragged them in on it. They were perfect, once we gave them the gun. The red head over there still has it." The gazes of over ten hostile men all shifted at once to Matt. Mello felt a different sort of adrenaline run through him and his instant reaction was to get their attention off of Matt. To Matt's credit, he didn't even flinch under the stares.

"Yeah, he did all the hacking but I came up with everything," said Mello smoothly. "The triangulation method to lock the room, everything."

"Triangulation method?" questioned the boss. The room shifted to look at Mello and the blonde felt a little more at ease.

"Yeah, it involves stringing weak wire from different points all of the room and bringing them through a keyhole. I'd go into detail a little bit further, but I wouldn't want any of you to strain yourselves," he taunted. The hostility in the room went up about ten degrees but the sudden snap of Matt's warning look was the only thing that through him. He just kept grinning, his left hand searching its pocket for chocolate by instinct.

"Well…" whispered the boss, in what Mello sure was what the man felt was his deadliest tone. "Aren't you confident?"

If that was he had to say Mello would own the pathetic excuse for a mob within the month.

"Maybe a bit."

It was easy to tell this man resented him. Well, Mello hated him right back. Sadly, at this moment, this boss's opinion was the one that mattered and he seemed to be passing judgment.

There was a long moment of silence. Mello kept up his calm, cocky façade but it was taking all of his will not to clench his fists hard enough so that his fingernails drew his own blood.

"…we'll keep the hacker. The blonde has an attitude and knows too much. Kill him."

Before Mello had a chance to think Matt was in front of him, beginning to aim his gun. Mello panicked, grabbing hold of Matt's sides to pin his arms, and the gun, down. Goddamnit, Matt, if he aimed the thing, they'd shoot without a second thought! They were already reaching for their holsters for crying out loud.

Matt stopped struggling when Mello grabbed him, realizing Mello was, in fact, still controlling the situation.

Mello gave the boss the most sadistic lopsided grin imaginable.

"Seems my friend doesn't like the idea of working alone."

"Then it seems that your friend doesn't like staying alive."

"You could keep me, you know. I promise I wouldn't be too much trouble."

"And you wouldn't be any if you were dead."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't be useful dead, either."

The boss-man raised an eyebrow. "Useful?"

Yes! He'd risen to the bait. "Uh-huh, useful." Pushing Matt aside as he took the gun from the redhead (only to pocket it), Mello stepped forward. "You tell me to get anything done, I'll do it. Give me a test, if you will."

Boss-man grinned. "A test?"

"Yes. You tell me to fetch, to sell, to kill and I'll be your man."

There was a pause where Mello could see the boss-man mulling the idea over behind his beady eyes. "You're just a kid."

"I'm seventeen."

"You're still a kid."

"Then you know I'm less likely to be suspected."

"…Why?"

Mello blinked. "Why what?"

Losing the scrunched malicious look on his face, boss-man leaned forward, truly considering Mello now. "Why are you throwing your life away?"

Mello simply raised an eyebrow in question. "What, you think I have something to live for?" Yeah, he'd paint himself as a desperate nothing and then they'd think he was a merely a tool to be used.

Those words cleared the boss-man's eyes. Mello had told a story this man had heard many times before and, now that boss-man felt like he was back in control, he'd make the mistake of being lenient.

After a moment of studying Mello, and going through what Mello was _sure_ was really deep thinking, boss-man nodded. "What's your name?"

"…call me Mello."

"Well, Mello…you can call me boss. You have fourteen days to kill a man."

--

His target's name was Alvin Sell.

The man had been providing the crew (1) with weapons for sometime behind the local and surprisingly uncorrupt police station's back but the boss-man (who used the name Charles Gallo) said he now had reason to believe that soon Alvin would double-cross them, namely by expanding his business to sell to the local gangs and the neighboring mob territory.

Perfectly legit reason to kill a man. Well, it was for Mello if got him closer to catching Kira. It didn't bother him at all. Not a bit.

Alright, maybe it did bother him a little but that didn't mean he wouldn't do it. He'd convince himself this was the best way so he could go after the God Wannabe.

Boss-man hadn't made anything easy however. He'd stated the target's name and approximate location before telling one of the Soldiers (2) to take them to the apartments (which turned out to be a subsection of the warehouse, boxed off with the crates). A wiry man, calling himself Nikkei, had begun to lead them off but Mello lingered for a moment, his faced pinched in as though he'd sucked a particularly bitter lemon.

"Aren't you going to give me a picture at least?" he had asked. His only response had been laughter before he allowed himself to be pushed away by an overzealous Nikkei.

Now, however, Mello sat on one of the cots of a hostel, deep inside his mob's territory. His mob…that had a ring to it. They'd already given him more than enough, too, depositing one thousand dollars into his bank account and promising him three men to assist him. Mello had responded by telling them Matt was enough and then had spent the first two-hundred on skin-tight leather clothes and German chocolate. It had just been two days since he had been given the assignment and he had yet to start on it; the leisurely pace was enjoyable.

Like a cat, Mello stretched out over the thin mattress and felt the muscles slide under his skin, enjoying the way the leather felt on his flesh. A lone chocolate bar, still half-wrapped, was in his mouth, only in held in place by his clamped teeth. He'd been basking in the flavor for over an hour, letting it melt and drip, drip, drip all along his taste buds.

Mmm…he'd put Matt on looking up Alvin in an hour. For the moment Mello figured they could hang.

Giving a large sigh, he propelled himself off the bed in one movement before making his way down the hall of the hostel in search for Matt. One of the lovely things about this arrangement was the fact that the entire hostel was empty, save for Matt, himself, and the keeper of the grounds (who was right in the palm of the mafia itself).

Down from the common room drifted music. Death metal in fact. Mello wandered in to see Matt with plastic guitar on his lap, eyes fixed on the colored lights rolling by on the screen, hands dancing over all of the buttons of the fake guitar (3); it was a wonder that he could tell the difference between the lights through the colored goggles.

Mello smiled. It wasn't often that Matt got a chance to play a game on something other than a portable consol.

Matt's eyes flickered to Mello, quickly going back to the screen.

"Wanna play?"

"…Sure."

Mello picked up the spare guitar leaning on the wall next to the television. Matt stood up, restarting the game, and Mello took a spot beside him. The opening animation played and both of their bodies tensed, fingers at the ready. Whoever hit the button first, when the choice was offered, would play lead guitar.

The needed screen popped up and both of them slammed the key to accept. Mello pumped his fist in the air. He'd won that toss-up most likely because Matt had let him…but he didn't think about that, much preferring to stick his tongue out at the red head who was setting his difficulty to expert. Normal mode was perfectly acceptable, thank you very much.

The dual began, though both of them played for the same side. Soon the pair of them were swaying to the beat, their hands dancing over the controllers. Matt on his bass and Mello playing lead, and with only a few screw-ups to boot. Tracks of oldies, death metal, and punk drifted through the halls of the old hostel. With the music came an accompaniment of laughter and taunts.

"You suck, Mello."

"Shut up. This is evidence that I have a life."

"I bet I'm better at firing guns than you with my lightning fast fingers."

"You're trigger happy, you mean. And-hey! You made me mess up!"

"And you fell for it!"

Mello could take no more of Matt's lip. He let his guitar plummet to the ground and launched himself at Matt. Fits of laughter and small screams filled the room. Matt was squirming underneath the blonde, gritting his teeth and trying to push Mello off who was (lightly) pushing his knee into Matt's stomach. The game was now admitting boos at their lack of performance on the plastic guitars.

"Give up, Matt."

Matt's body became putty in Mello's hands. Mello blinked. He'd listened? However, Matt used the lull in Mello's attention to push upward, startling Mello so that he could take control of the pinning. This only half-succeeded, the pair now both on their sides, Mello's hands grasped on Matt's shoulders and Matt's hands were around Mello's torso.

"C'mon, Mello," complained Matt through gritted teeth, "I'm gonna get a low score because of you…."

"Serves you right," Mello snapped back. "You kept messing me up." Matt laughed and Mello began to take control, pushing Matt back down on his back.

"I was only…training you…so you could get better…at paying attention to…" Matt ground out, interrupting himself with what he might have felt was a fierce growl, "…stuff," he finished lamely.

"Riiight…"

Matt wasn't allowing Mello to plant his knee in his gut again, pushing upward into the blonde's own gut this time. Mello could feel Matt's pounding heartbeat beneath his palm, felt his own beating in rhythm…and a strange thing happened. Electric tingles began to cross over Mello's body in waves, originating at each point where he touched Matt. His breath hitched and his eyesight sharpened so that he could clearly make out the smallest of imperfections in Matt's teenage skin.

The oddest thing about these sensations, however, was not that they were present. No, it was the fact that he somehow knew these feelings had always been there and he was only now becoming aware of them. Of course, this wasn't the first time he'd felt like this around Matt…but it was becoming more frequent as of late.

Mello wasn't stupid. Near had always beaten him in everything, everything Mello had ever wanted to excel in, and so the blonde boy had felt every feeling all over the spectrum. The sweet, fleeting taste of achievement, the boiling anger of being surpassed, the cold anger of plotting revenge, the icy cut of losing his hero…and none of these feelings still quite expressed exactly what Matt stirred in him. To truly find anything to describe what was going on inside the storm that was Mello he'd had to turn to books. Specifically, romance novels. No, they were not trashy, thank you very much. He'd gone to Gone With the Wind, Romeo and Juliet, Phantom of the Opera, and Pride and Prejudice. None of these had helped either.

So, Mello had to resort to gut intuition and, though he disliked what that exactly had to say about all this, Mello wasn't about to put himself on the River of Denial about this particular subject. He'd accepted it. Embracing it, however, and ruining his only friendship…that wasn't going to happen.

Still, Mello found himself indulging in every touch he shared with Matt, every laugh that was being filtered through straining, clenched teeth at this very moment.

"Mello…I'll eat every last bit of chocolate you own if you don't let me win."

The blonde tried not to choke on his spit at that. Empty threat. Matt knew what happened when he was faced with a Mello not satisfying his chocolate craving. He only pushed down harder; Matt squawked. Almost…had him….

"Ahem."

The man standing in the door was lucky that neither Mello nor Matt had a gun on them at the moment as he would have immediately been shocked. The two sprang away from their intimate position and angled themselves, nearly back to back, so that they were facing the door.

Facing them was the declining figure of an aging fifty year old man. The manager of the hostel. Mello very nearly spat at him, anger-turned-liquid flooding his veins. How fucking _dare_ he walk in on them like that!?

"Yes…?" Mello ground out.

The man looked nonplussed. "Lights out in ten minutes."

…_What!?_ "Do we look like we're fucking twelve or something?"

"I don't care how old you are, you won't be responsible for a spike in my electric bill." Mmm…Mello could feel a knife burning a hole in his pocket. He could also feel Matt's warning look burning a hole through his head. The prick walked away unharmed, leaving Matt and Mello alone in the room again.

Mello turned back to Matt who was already turning off the television, muttering dejectedly about not being able to finish the game. Mello very nearly felt sorry for distracting him from it…but it had been worth it. He tugged on his friend's sleeve.

"Ready to go back to the room?"

"…ready to go back to the room."

The pair trudged back to the smallest, most secure room of the hostel in silence. Matt dug an elbow into him halfway through the journey and Mello returned the favor. He knew his counter-attack couldn't have hurt as much; Matt was a lanky creature, practically made of elbows jutting out everywhere and he still wasn't quite used to the body that looked as though it was finally ready to start growing to let its owner begin filling it out. Elbowing and tripping each other back to the room, both of them slammed the door once they got inside and resumed their wrestling match.

--

When Matt and Mello had finally exhausted themselves they were lying on a twin bed in a pitch-black room. Mello lay on top Matt's legs, pinning the poor red head. Unable to get away and reclaim his dignity, Matt was complacently waiting for Mello to release him. Mello's muscles ached, he knew Matt's did, and still he knew both he and Matt had the largest grins plastered across their weary faces. The moment would have been absolutely perfect if only his chocolate weren't out of arms reach.

Matt yawned loudly. "We falling asleep like this?"

"I don't feel like moving."

"Mmkay."

Mello's head rested beside Matt's chest, Matt's head was positioned comfortably on the bed's pillow, his own legs nearly dangling over the edge of the bed but the blonde couldn't find it within himself to care. This was the most comfortable he'd been in some time, even if Matt was almost literally a sack of bones with skin stretched over it. The red head's smell more than made up for everything. Every breath Mello took was filled with his essence, an essence that he couldn't compare to any other scent and nor did he wish to.

Mmm…how far was this raw attraction he felt for his friend going to carry on? Was it planning on becoming something? Or was he throwing feelings onto Matt that he was only experimenting with? Gah, he was confusing even himself….

Matt made him feel…happy. But did that entail-

"You're anxious." Mello blinked, angling his head up to try and catch Matt's face in the dark.

"…I guess that might be what I'm feeling," he confessed.

"You're not usually this quiet about this sort of thing."

"I'm…I'm trying to figure something out."

"Are we gonna do anything about knocking off this Alvin guy or do you really want to active the mafia's seek and destroy mode?" Mello smiled. Matt had figured out he hadn't wanted to discuss what was on his mind.

"Actually, I was gonna put you figuring out who the hell the target is tonight. Then the prick showed up to inform us of our bedtime." Matt snickered, shifting to fold his hands under his head.

"Mmm, but you couldn't do anything of course," Matt teased.

"You're the hacker. It's the only reason I keep you around. Pull your wait or I won't feed you."

"Well," chuckled Matt, "I don't like your food. I like a little more variation in my diet besides dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate." Mello scowled.

"I don't eat fucking white chocolate. The stuff isn't even made with cocoa." Matt laughed, the side of his torso Mello was resting against rubbed at his head.

"Right, I forgot. Forgive me, please. Still, I don't need your chocolate. The mafia seemed perfectly content to offer me a meal ticket without a certain explosive blonde."

"So…you're saying you'd leave me for a balanced meal?"

"…Nah, I'm not overly fond of veggies. Leave those out though and we can talk."

Mello allowed his eyes to slip shut. The ear that was pressed against Matt was listening in on the symphony of life. The heart gave the beat, with each pound blood rushed through Matt's veins giving the body its rhythm. The lungs complemented with their surges and depletions of oxygen; the melody came from the gurgles of a processing stomach.

Mello nearly smacked himself, eyes opening again. If he was becoming this poetic about Matt's digestive system he should have been expelling the excess creativity on his book instead.

"…I should be writing right now," he complained. He was rather sore with himself about forgetting to do so earlier today. The sooner the project was done, the better.

"The book about L, you mean?"

"…No, Matt. The other novel I'm writing." Matt chuckled, sleep obviously tugging at his voice now.

"Right, idiot me. Where _is_ the manuscript, anyway?"

Mello stretched on top of his captive. "You make it sound all official. And it's in the safety box with your gun. The writing's getting easier now, though. Misora was being difficult in the beginning and wasn't allowing me to work through her."

"You should have been an artist."

Mello didn't reply. After a moment he settled for turning his body toward Matt's sprawled form. Matt sighed…and Mello had trouble reading it.

"Tell me something about L." The blonde looked up at the darkness, startled. Matt had never made a request like that before. He drew into himself for a moment, though he didn't bother putting up any walls. Yes…it would be alright if Matt knew. His affection for him would allow him to tell a secret and his boastful side was dying to impress.

"…he hated socks."

Matt made a small noise in his throat that sounded like a drowning frog. Mello cackled and Matt shoved him.

"What, were you expecting something deep?" he taunted. Poking Matt in the side he conceded, "But it's still true. He hated socks."

"…why?"

"What?" Mello inquired. "You don't think that's cool? Einstein hated them too, you know. Said they wasted his time."

"So…" Matt drawled, still a bit thrown from the outrageous statement about Whammy's House's all-time hero, "…he hated them because they took too much time to put on?"

Mello shrugged against Matt's body. "I don't know. He told me that when he had to wear shoes when he went outside he still didn't put them on. Barefoot, all the time. Could've had a pore problem on his feet for all I know."

"…a pore problem, Mello?" Mello shrugged again and he began to notice that there seemed to be weights attached to his eyelids. Matt yawned to emphasize Mello's increasingly lacking ability to retain consciousness. "Ahh…so, why'd you waste so much money on leather?"

Lazily, Mello began to kick off his boots and he gave Matt's statement a sloppy grin. "It wasn't a waste. Why, you don't like it?" He could feel Matt shifting around beneath him, trying to kick off his own shoes.

"No…it fits you. Eccentric and all."

Mello laughed softly. "You're calling _me_ eccentric, Matty?" he whispered against his friend.

"When you resort to loving nicknames it's time for all good Mellos to go to sleep."

"Mmm…"

Mello was a person who switched emotions on a dime, living in a constant state of chaos. Because of this he was one of the people who could recognize serenity and enjoy it for its fleeting moment.

--

"Man…this guy expects to get back on the dating scene?"

"That's not the issue at hand, Matt."

Both boys were hunched around the screen of the hostel's laptop, staring at the personal files and photos of Mr. Alvin Oakley Sell. Since the mafia nearly owned the establishment and they were financing Mello's job it was reasonable to assume that the computer was safe but he'd had Matt run diagnostics before they had used it. Mello didn't plan on being double-crossed. He'd checked every inch of the hostel for bugs or cameras but the place had been clean. It nearly made Mello suspicious but there was only so much paranoia one man could live with.

"I think it relates. Here's a fairly well-off widower with an adorable little girl. Sadly, he's ugly as fuck. So maybe that fact, plus the possibility that his personality might resemble that of a slab of granite, is why no woman has snatched him up yet, even for his money." Mello snapped off a piece of his chocolate bar, letting the jagged edge rub across his tongue.

"They could hate his kid too. Also, why is this relevant?" Matt sighed, removing his goggles for a moment to rub his eyes. Mello snickered. Little red circles were left where the eye-gear had dug into the skin; Matt ignored him.

"It matters because it might be an easy way to penetrate his defense. Get him a good looking woman who will put up with him and it'll be easy to manipulate him."

"…There's always the possibility he could be gay and that plan is a little less than fool-proof."

"I don't see _you_ coming up with any ideas."

"I'm simply not thinking aloud."

"Hn…."

"Alright," Mello commanded, "review the facts for me." Matt nodded, sighing and readjusting his goggles and placing them back over his face; he scrolled down the screen.

"We know the guys name. He grew up in an orphanage and left when he became an adult. Married when he was twenty-three, gained a little girl and lost a wife at twenty-four…. Up front he plays the stalks and is rich off his wife's life insurance and there's no foul play expected. His daughter is home-schooled, always has been, and is currently eleven. The pair of them live alone. Alvin's trying to re-enter the dating scene at the moment and has experienced a lack of success.

"But it's Sell's underworld job that makes him the money. He buys weapons cheap when he leaves the country on business then has them smuggled in so he can sell them to our friends. His criminal record has a few speeding tickets on it…and something a little more interesting. Seems he was tried for dealing drugs but was acquitted." Matt yawned, stretching out his arms and lacing his fingers together. "My legs are sore from you sleeping on them." Mello ignored this.

"Hmm…our friends didn't tell us anything about drugs, did they?"

"Not unless they did it in sign language."

"Don't be a smart ass." Mello tapped his chin, taking another bite of chocolate, his eyes quenched together in thought. Slowly, very slowly, a grin lit his face. He looked like the freakin' Cheshire Cat. Matt raised an eyebrow.

"…What are you thinking?"

"…How do you feel about kidnapping?"

"…_What_?"

--

**(1) Crew: A common name for a group of Soldiers of the mafia.**

**(2) Soldier: Soldiers are members of the family, and can only be of Italian background. Some work alone to earn money for the family. They are also called **_**made men,**_** who have **_**made their bones,**_** by committing a murder in front of Mafia witnesses or committed a murder by orders from a high member of the Family. This ensures the soldier's reliability: he will never testify against a man who could testify against him.**

**(3) This game is Guitar Hero, specifically the third installment. It's a game where the player (or players) take guitar-shaped controllers and try to hit the buttons on them in time with the moving buttons scrolling down the screen, thus enabling you to play some of your favorite songs.**

**A/N-Well, what do you think? I wanted to make it longer…but I also wanted to keep the momentum for this ficcy going. Please, review! It's my life-blood!**


End file.
